Page 64 of Encounter

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As I sat at home with the phone in hand, it feltsonot me. Far too erratic and impulsive but... so was working out in a gym with tattooed, burly men who probably killed people for living—and I seemed to be pretty accustomed to that.

Perhaps calling Zola isn’t such a horrible idea.

“Galen?” Her surprised voice came out of the phone right away. For a moment, I froze, unsure what to say or how to bring myself to continue with the plan.

“Hey!” Quickly, I got myself together. “I was just... I was in the gym, and I got this... stupid idea that maybe we could go out and go to a club or-or something!” Zola must have thought someone kidnapped me—it does happen—and was forcing me to say this.

She breathed out after a few seconds of silence. “Oh! I, well— Are you sure?!”

“Yeah. I mean... As long asyouwant to,” I blurted out, desperately trying to reel in my awkwardness. “I know we’re both not exactly... the party types, but I was thinking... Maybe we should try it, you know? See what’s all the fuss about,” I laughed nervously and sucked in my bottom lip. It felt like an act, like something inherently unnatural—trying something as out there as this. Yet it made me realize how such a normal, regular thing was this much of a big deal to me.

“Alrighty. Sure!” Zola’s voice sounded with sudden excitement, which filled me up with some determination. “You wanna meet at your place or...?”

“No. I’ll get to your dorm, and then we can decide where to go. If that’s alright,” I faltered a little at the end, but did not allow myself to have any negative thoughts or regrets about the situation. “Sound good?”

“Sounds great!”

The plan was shaky, but it wasaplan.

It was about 10 pm when Zola and I stood outside of the club she got recommended by her new friends. They wanted to come with us but couldn’t, which made me selfishly happy. It was hard enough to go out and socialize with Zola, not to mention having to spend time with more people I didn’t even know.

Sharing a nervous glance, we smiled at each other.

“You look really nice,” I admitted, looking up and down at her. Wearing an unusually short black skirt and a tight, pink tank top, Zola looked miles away from her regular, more smart-casual self. I figured years ago she hid her curves—and especially the ones nature gifted her up there—so that she didn’t have to deal with looks or comments from guys around her. I still remembered the time some random thirty-something man whistled at her when we were twelve, walking through town.

“Thanks,” she chuckled in response, bashfully looking down.

“So... The Dazzler, huh?” I mumbled, realizing we were frozen in front of the entrance like two losers who didn’t know what to do. The music nearly pulsed through the ground under our feet, and people were already pouring in and out of the main door—laughing, drunkenly dancing, and chatting while having a smoke outside. “Think I heard some people talk about it at school. I guess it looks alright.”

“The girls said it’s good,” Zola confirmed, putting a strand of her shiny, straightened hair behind her ear. “They go pretty often.”

“Cool,” I said, hoping the irrational jealousy didn’t show in my voice. How stupid was feeling sorry I wasn’t the one living life, spending time with friends, while dreading those very situations.

“Come on then. Let’s do this!” Grabbing my hand out of nowhere, Zola dragged us toward the entrance, knowing all too well if it was left up to me, we would be standing out there all night.

The bouncer let us in after checking our IDs. He also let us know the little dirty public secret which was, “If you can get the bartenders to give you drinks, you can drink ‘em.”

“It’s pretty loud, huh?” Zola asked, and I could barely hear her. The smells, sounds, smoke, and dozens of people all crammed into the crazily decorated underground area were making my head hurt the moment we walked in. The walls were crammed with an obscene amount of vinyls—what a waste—and all of the concrete pillars throughout the room had neon blocks in their mid-section.

We found a somewhatquietspot in one of the little booths in the very corner, and while Zola waited, I went to the bar to get us some soda.

Even the music was obnoxious, but... this was what I wassupposedto be doing. I kept reminding myself that. This—this was the pinnacle of my late teens and early adulthood. The sound, the movement, the freedom to get drunk—even if I hated the taste.

Finally returning with two glasses, I sat next to Zola and anxiously wiggled my butt on the leather seat to try and get comfortable.

“You said you’ll crash at your parent’s place after? You sure they won’t mind you coming back drunk in the middle of the night? That is... if we manage to get some alcohol.”

“They’re out on a date tonight. Usually don’t come back until early in the morning. They like their wine and their friends.” Zola said while playfully nibbling at the straw.

“Dad’s been out of the city for, like, four days. He usually doesn’t even tell me in advance, he just... you know, goes and leaves me a note on the fridge or something.” Right when I realized how whiny I sounded, I let out a sigh.

Zola gave me a hesitant smile. “He must really trust you.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. No matter how much I tried, or how much I didn’t want to ruin the night at its very beginning by my depressed bitching, I couldn’t help but feel bitter. “I doubt he thinks I’m such a responsible adult. I mean, I’m sure he wouldlovethat. Not having that responsibility anymore. Sometimes, I think the only reason he tolerates me is because I’m his only child. The only person he can push the legacy of our stupid family on...”

After a moment of silence, I realized how deep and dark I had gotten and quickly breathed out, turning to Zola with an awkward chuckle.

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